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ClOEXRIGHT DEPOSm 



White Silences 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/whitesilencespoeOObull 



White Silences 



Poems 
A Play 
& 
A Tale 



By 

KATHERINE BULL 



THE TOUCHSTONE 
PUBLISHING CO. 
NEW YORK 






Seeking, we shall find — despairing there shall arise new hopes. 
Down in the valley we said "We have searched everywhere" — 
and zve had never climbed this peak! 

In an unthought place we shall find It. 

From The Grey-Green Forest, 

A Prose-Poem. 



0)CI,A559 549 

M i g 1920 






MEMORIAL 



In the middle of October, 1918, Katherlne Bull, a little girl 
of fifteen, slipped away into the Great Beyond, leaving 
this message — ^written many months before and tucked away 
among her poems — for a world brought face to face with 
sorrowing and death : 

" You talk to me about dying. 
What do you know about dying? 
It is not dying you mean .... you mean LIFE." 

There was no struggle, no anticipation; just a sudden 
flitting away, like a bird let out of its cage. 

Her last two years were spent at boarding school, and 
filled so full of joyous interest in all the usual activities, 
that there was great surprise among her friends to find she had 
long been writing poems like these. ''She never talked about 
such things" they said, and "She didn't seem different from 
the rest of us." 

She was perhaps the most concentrated bit of livingness 
in the entire school, and so when she went quietly away, with 
hardly any warning whatsoever, there might have been an 
emptiness experienced, a sense of loss — a sadness that so 
much joy of life should be removed from sight. 

But here the "difference," not always noticeable before, 
was suddenly apparent: she was one for whom you could not 
mourn! And the wonderful awareness that was hers, deep 
down under the ordinary current of her life, bloomed out into 
a sudden radiance and overflowed the hearts of those who 
were most near to her, leaving no place for ordinary grief. 
"We never knew that death could be like this" . . . the 
children said to one another. 



There was no thought of any burial, even after the 
alchemy of fire had wrought its rapid chemge. Up on 
the Mountain of her poem — beyond the sign that reads 
''End of the Road," she planned to build a little house some 
far-off day^ — a little house that would look out over the 

river And so — a certain morning 

before dawn . . . the one who was most-near-of-all to her 
went up — alone and the little handful of star- 
dust, given to the winds, was scattered lightly on the mountain 
side. 

Always to the point where men write "End of the Road" 

^and then beyond! She would have none 

of your limitations. 

The poetry began to appear when she was eight years old. 
Always it was quite spontaneous, and seldom tampered 
with once it was written down. The early verses here 
included are chosen from a much larger number which 
she made into a little manuscript book and dedicated "To 
my Mother." No one could possibly be more critical of these 
first attempts than was the child herself, after she had begun 
to strike her truer gait. She never ceased to enjoy reading 
them over to us, however, sometimes laughing whole-heartedly 
at their "childishness," and sometimes commenting very 
quaintly — but quite impersonally — on their good points and 
on their bad ones! 

She read a great amount of poetry, and the influence of 
Edward Carpenter psurticularly is easy to be traced in much 
that she has done. At times she has quite frankly taken over 
forms of rhyme or meter that made a strong appeal, and her 
indebtedness to Lanier is obvious in one instance — to Vachell 
Lindsay in another. Yet both these poems contain so much 
that is entirely her own, it seemed a pity to exclude them from 
her book. 



The later poems were the most precious things in her 
possession, and nearly all of them are given here — ^the less 
good with the best — ^to make their own appeal, and take 
whatever place belongs to them amid the universal heralding 
of a New Day already at our gates. 



High up on the mountain side there blooms to-day a cloud 
of everlasting flowers — the loveliest gayest little grey- 
white immortelles. It is as tho the brooding Elarth in her great 
tenderness and mother-love could not forego the customary 
marking of the spot! And yet — ^the very mountain seems 
alive with her, the little strong one who wandered lightly over 
it so often and so eagerly, and there is no sense of any part 
peculiarly hers. 

For there is an end of graves at hand — in the earth and 
in our hearts as well. If this were to be the beginning of the 
end .... what more fitting memorial to the little poet 
cf Immortality and Freedom — ^who made this book for you! 

NINA BULL 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Dedication 11 

Silences . . 12 

Song Sparrow . . 13 

The Open Road 14 

To the Winged Clouds . . 15 

To My Heart 16 

If thou hast given thy life 17 

Sea Song 18 

Storm of Spirits 19 

If you have saved a friend's life 20 

Worship . ..21 

Heat 22 

You 23 

Lines 24 

Wandering Lightly 25 

Evening Prayer 26 

Morning Prayer 2 7 

Songs of My Being, I and II 28 

Spring 30 

The Storm 32 

A tiny red spider . . .34 

I said 35 

Wild . . wet . . women on the hill-tops 36 

Quiet things a-lapping up the drear-time . . . . 37 

White Mirrors 38 

There is no silence 39 

You are so foolish 40 

Kisses of the Bending Lilies 41 

I Accept You . . . . 42 

Mountain 43 

Death: A Play . 44 



EARLY POEMS Page 

Around the Fire 48 

The Sky 49 

A Wish 50 

Song of the Fisherman's Child 51 

To Lilies 52 

God 53 

The Snow Storm 54 

Charm: To be said before going to sleep . . .55 

ToM. R L 56 

I went to the churchyard . . '. . . . . 5 7 

The Song of the Child . 58 

The Stars 59 

Hie Ocean's Lullaby 60 

Epilogue . . 61 

The Difference: A Tale 82 



DEDICATION 

To My Mother 

Mother, you sit in the twilight, and 
As the twilight deepens, the blackness ripens. 
The ocean sways and the ocean quivers. 
And breezes glide through the air like rivers, 
The sun sinks lower beneath the horizon. 
The world is mystic, — the shadows gloomy. 
The earth is veiled in a veil of splendor — 
A magic veil that conses from the fairies; 
Woven and spun — woven and spun 
On an elfin loom with elfin network. 

how short is the magical moment! 

How precious, how lovely the magical moment! 
When the black leaves come and the green leaves go 
And color fades from the world of real things — 
World of real things — of unreal things. 

But, Mother, you love to sit in the twilight. 
To watch, as it deepens, the blackness ripen, 
The ocean sway and the ocean Nay, 

1 have said it — I will not say it again; 
But you must seal my lips with a kiss. 
With a kiss, Mother, good-night. 



11 



SILENCES 

I love 

The white silences that you keep. 



I do not know who you are . . . 
Only your sOences hide in my soul. 



12 



SONG SPARROW 

I heard you, little soul-singer 

In the sweet pause of the rising morning you wounded me 
to life. 

To-day you are loved and noted of heaven 

And forever you shall be of the Sacred Ones 



For it was you that woke the thrill in the deeps of me. 



13 



THE OPEN ROAD 

Away and away it stretches 

Into the distant horizon, 

Inviting, and tempting, and luring me 

On into Life and Adventure. 

Like Time, it has known no beginning 

And endless, like God, it is waiting: 

While I, that stand awed in the silence, 

Am crushed with the love and adoring 

That circles me round in deep circles. 

And passes and passes and passes 

Through all of my innermost being. 

Along and along 1 am running: 

(Glad heart, that is throwing me forward!) 

Night comes and I sit by the roadside 
And gaze at the stars in the midnight ; 
But long ere the morning awakens 
I wake — and am running and running 
Over the endless, beginningless : 
Over the open road! 



14 



TO THE WINGED CLOUDS 

O clouds, ye hersJds of snows and storms, 

Ye wings of the world with your wild white forms, 

bear me up on your wavy crests 

Your msnriad mother's bosoms and breasts; 
And dance me out in the universe, 

1 an infant and ye my nurse; 

Feed me the food that the stars consume. 
And make me strong in your mother-womb; 

Kiss me with lips that have cursed, and sing me 
Your sweetest of songs, cuddle me, wring me. 
And deep, O deep 
Deep down in your downy depths where your songs ye keep. 
Sing me asleep! 



15 



TO MY HEART 

little heart of mine, 

Tell me, why did you prefer to stay in darkness when you saw 

light? 
You saw Love, and still hated: 
You saw Knowledge, and sought it not: 
You saw Faith, and doubted: 
You saw Hope, and despaired: 
Joy, and were still miserable. 

Why was this, O Heart of mine? 
For there came a hole in the veil that was wound about you 

and kept you in dsurkness, 
A little hole which let through the Light and through which you 

saw Love, and Knowledge, and Faith, and Hope, and 

Joy; 

But you drew the veil tighter around you and hid the hole in 
its folds 

And then, by and by, the hole grew larger^ — 

You looked once more, and saw how sacred it was, 

And you called to Light and her companions ..... 

And lo! 

The veil of darkness you had worn changed to the Light you 
sought: 

And the hatred that you had hated became your love of Love: 

The Knowledge that you had longed for was born of your 
ignorance : 

And out of the doubt and fear you bore came faith in Faith 
eternal : 

Born of the blackest of your despair came Hope, the Con- 
queror of Worlds: 

And from the depths of your misery issued your wildest Joy 
in rejoicing. 

1 know you have blessed the hidden hole in the veil that cov- 

ered your eyes; 
But tell me, O Heart of mine, and Soul of my heart of hearts. 
Tell me, why did you hide so long from the Light that blos- 
somed about you? 



16 



IF THOU HAST GIVEN THY LIFE 

If thou hast given thy life and thy strength and thy power to 

attain something — 
Not for thyself, but for the world ; 

If thy vision proclaims it perfect and thou knowest none better ; 
And if thou shalt live to see this ideal a reality before thee: 

Thou shalt not pause to glory in it. 

There will be no time for thee to put on thy fine raiment, 

Or to feast in the hall and rejoice; 

Nor will there even be time for thee to doff thy work clothes. 

But thou shalt run on: 

Past the feast 

And past the merry-makers, 

Past everything. 

Past all the past, 

Yea, even thy ideal which has been realized ; 

And thou shalt give thy all to a new ideal. 

For it shalt thou labor and for it shalt thou drain thy new life. 



17 



SEA SONG 

I sit high on a rock 

The ocean lies low beneath me 

And the spray reaches up and sometimes spatters me with a 

shower of pure pearls, 
While the wind blows through my hair and kisses my heart. 

The pearls are big; 

The waves and the rock are bigger; 

And the ocean is bigger still. 

But I ... . 

Am littler than the littlest pearl; 

I ans so little that I long to cast myself from the rock, 

I long to lose my great littleness in its great bigness, 

To mix my spark of power with its omnipotence. 

To feel its vastness, its glory, its limitless life. 

To lie in this mass of surging waters and cease breathing — 

ay, to forsake my breathing body ; 
I must live its glory and its freedom. 
I MUST LIVE! 

And perhaps I shall issue forth purified — cleansed, 

Perhaps I shall return with all its power merged into mine — 

one with mine. 
And perhaps . . . perhaps the ocean and I will never part — 

will never be severed, 
Perhaps we shall live as One through the ages. 
— -Perhaps? .... No — Surely. 



18 



STORM OF SPIRITS 

Bl&ck trees^ — black shore-line — ^white sea- — black enfolding 
edges of a bay 

And I, beholding it, inconspicuous sheltered — gazing from far 
inland. 

Beautiful white sky resting on black uplifted horizon 

Masses of spirit centered — ^casting deep shadows, holy, over 
the water near edges of things — 

Then with a slow swiftness black merging into white and white 
spreading out over all in grey mist. 

Grey mist eating deep into everything 

And clean white sea things sliding surely up frons the sand and 
vanishing out with swift ease into unknown spaciousness 
of great freedom. 

And when all They have passed out .... grey grey torrents 
of rain consuming all into sorrow and weeping not to be 
relieved by fire or sobbing but only a slow unintermit- 
tant mourning and dismal oblivion of outline. 

Even the trees above me are stiff and silent and the utter dim- 
ming has stricken me cold and dead. 

O that I could have run with Them clean also auid white 

merging into the Unknown Freedom where light 

and darkness and all hidden things stand revealed in 
naked nature. 



19 



IF YOU HAVE SAVED A FRIEND'S LIFE 

If you have saved a friend's life, 

Or done some valorous deed, forgetful of self, 

If you have been kind and unselfish and generous 

And are tired of doing good, 

Desiring to rest and remain in peace: 

Remember, it is not what you have done that counts, 

But what you are doing. 



If you have done a good thing, 

Think not that if you do it again it will still be good. 

The second time you must do something nsuch harder, much 

better. 
Right and wi'ong are not determined by the world, 
But by each individual. 
Hie best you are able is right. 
Other than that is wrong. 

And remen»ber, it is not what you have done that counts, 
But what you are doing. 



If you have sinned, and are weighted down with the memory, 

If you punish yourself, and do penance, 

Or if you have sustained a great grief 

And therefore your life is clouded j 

Forget your grief and your sins, 

Let them not spoil your whole existence; 

The only acceptable penance for wrong, is right. 

Remember, it is not what you have done that counts. 

But what you are doing. 



20 



WORSHIP 

There is nothing in all the world that is not fit to be wor- 
shipped. 

The ocean, mad, free, passionate — - it is niy God to nue. 
The trees rocks sand (equally gloriocas expressions cf 

Nature) they are my God to me. 
And the little common things the field mouse 

shining loving stars up thro the grass at me as I pass 
Or the water rat peeping shy out of the sewer pipe, and 

shooting back again at the approach of a stranger .... 
There is no fear between us. We are all worship to each other. 

Behold as I lay by the sea 
The waves washed up unto me many things 
And the tide slid back underneath the ocean 
Leaving a dead fish rotting on the sand. 

And as I lay worshipping 

There came a voice: 

And I knew that there was nothing beautiful in heaven or earth 
that had not its form from the rot and unloveliness of cen- 
turies. 



21 



HEAT 

Heat heat; sunlight white heat all heat 

Shadow black languid heat 

Each grain of sand scorching deep deep into my body 

And sea, cold cold scorching the heat heat scorching cold 

All is heat: 

Black shadow-heat white sun-heat dry sand-heat wet 

cold-heat 
All heat equal scorching equally great seething heat. 

Grass rock tree sand water — One heat 

Thus the country. 

Fever fever 

Death death 

Men and women stricken in the streets 'neath glare of great 
walls all heat 

Dying dying, unclean fever and burning out of hearts 

Hot tearless sorrow, the deep city gone mad with a terrible 
mania 

Walls walls snatching the heat white delirious heat 

And thick atmosphere — unfit breath for even the swarm- 
ing diseased flies. 

O fever fever 

Thus the city. 

O wonderful world-heat 

Heat of the universe and all that is 

Drawn out from the center of things by Unknown Power: 

Whom do I worship but thee? 

Where a God, an All, supreme, save thee? 

Mad essence of all and source in the eyes of the world, 

destroying and beyond eyes, creating 

Scorch thou my body; or if need be, consume it in flame 
For I will dissolve my identity in pain . . . world-pain 

. . . heat-pain 
And glory in a new creation. 



22 



YOU 

You 

I love you. 

I do not love you as I love my unknown gods 

I love you close — 

Small and human .... 

And the great awe of your tenderness. 

You are so beautiful 

And I love your eyes. 

There is a terrible sadness .... 

Burden of worlds 

Singing its tear-heart. 

You are so big 

And you are so tired 

So lonely. 

I am so small, 

But I am not tired, and so little lonely. 

I am of the little aches and hurts 

And you are of the ache of worlds : 

My little ones so short, so passing. 

I am April 

But with such joy as April never knew. 

But you .... 

You are time 

Wheeling 
Great and lonely 

Through the worlds 

On the way of the lone gods. 



LINES 

Lmgerisig seas of sunset 
Flaming and red, 

Bits of my golden sorrow 
Burnished and bled. 

Woven of misty vagueness 
Cloud eagles swoop 

Bearing away my sorrow 
Into their troop. 



24 



WANDERING LIGHTLY 

Wandering lightly over the mountains 

Running and leaping and passing and flitting 

Over and on a dance and joy. 

Hither I come and thither I go 

Night of the Silence who can know? 

High , low go , go 

Leaping chasms 

Climbing precipices 

Slipping into abysses 

Flying up out over 

High , low go , go 



25 



EVENING PRAYER 

"0 mighty Mother — in silence receive thy child." 

EDWARD CARPENTER. 

O mighty Mother — in silence receive thy child — in high 
silences of night, peaceful and unresisting let me be taken ; 

And through all the quiet time let my healing be accomplished, 

While stars bud and even until the moon yields into the sun. 

O mighty Mother, 

Make me to-night even as the moon^ — -yield me also into the 
Sun, that we may arise and go forth together, goldenly 
glorious. 



26 



MORNING PRAYER 

I will arise and run out into the day, singing — 

Thou Mother shalt look forth out of my eyes and lay blessings 
on all life. 

Wheresoever I go, there shall be always the quiet time, and 
upon whomsoever I lay my eyes, he shall be blessed for- 
ever. 

My very breath shall be healing, and always for the strength I 
give out, there shall return an hundredfold for my own 
healing. 



27 



SONGS OF MY BEING 

I 

I was not begotten of wosnan, 

Nature was my mother. 

I slept in the womb of the ocean, 

Yea, Sae* brought me forth. 

The rocks cradled me: 

The trees fondled me in their arsus: 

The flowers lent me their smiles for my lips, 

Their quietude for my heart. 

When I was a child 

i gathered pearls from the ocean, 

Pieces of gold and silver from the earth, 

Pink coral from the coral islands, 

And I loved them, because they were pretty. 

I ate the berries of the deadly nightshade : 

I drank poison out of the serpent's fangs: 

A hundred times in the storm the lightning struck across my 

face: 
And who could count the days I have played in the beautiful 

garden in the bosonn of Sae where I was nourished until 

I came forth perfect? 
I have walked through fire, 
Yea, stood still in the midst of it and breathed of the life that 

was in it. 
There was an earthquake and nnountains fell on mie. 
But I took wings, and soared up out of the rock. 
Yea, I have drunk poison and laughed; 
I have stood in fire, nor been burnt; 
I have played in the beautiful sea-garden, and have not been 

drowned ; 
Rocks have fallen upon me, and I was not crushed. 

I sing of the strength of me 

It may well seem a miracle to thee — ^just now — 

Yet believe and some day thou shalt understand. 



*Sae is Old English for Sea. 

28 



SONGS OF MY BEING 

il 

I asm the ruler of my body and soul through my Spirit: 

I am lord of all about me : 

I make pure that which is filled with impurities: 

I wash that which is filthy: 

I heal that which is afflicted: 

Anger and fear fly before the flame of my breath 

Like chaff before the wind: 

That which has been evil becomes nothing as I approach: 

The stars are my messengers; 

The sun and moon are a footstool for my feet; 

I sit on the mountains and watch the world go its way 

below me; 
At my right hand is Eternity, 
And at my left is Space: 
The lightning is the glance of my eye ; 

The thunder is my voice when I raise it in praise to the skies; 
The oceans are my tears, purifying the earth : 
Fire is my soul, burning the earth: 
Wind is my breath, scattering the earth: 
And earthquakes are my words, upheaving it. 
I am my master. 

I am in God and in all these worlds about me, 
And in me are all these. 



29 



SPRING 

Spring, 

I love thee! 

It is the beginning, the world re-born 

That I love. 

And I love it 

Because I, too, am re-born. 

My body sings, and is beautiful; 

Its ugly covering drops off 

Even as thy snow departs. 

And underneath it is strong and growing. 

Spring, 

I love thee ! 

I see thee in the vanishing dirt-laden snow, 

I hear thee in the sap whispering inside black tree-trunks, 

And I behold thee in green buds through the branches 

Ready to burst out and grow when their time comes. 

In the waking pools thou art. 

And in the ice-bound rivers breaking their thick coverings 

into a thousand pieces with glad flowing. 
In the sky 
The white clouds 
I see thee. 
In the air 
The warm clouds 
Thou art. 

In the green things growing up through the earth, 
In the birds' songs 
And in me, also, 
Thou art come. 
My soul set free 
In calm and silent joy 
Worshipping thee, as a God. 
Thou art a beginning 
Re-bearing the earth 
Out of great deadness. 



30 



I am the regenerating Life; 

I, O World, am thy re-birth, 

I am thy great beginning. 

And I am also that which begins, 

That which is re-born 

To whom the re-birth comes. 



31 



THE STORM 

A tearing rush 

Tears 

A flash 

And a crash 

A piercing shriek 

A gasping cry — 

Still tears 

Strange lights 

Crashes 

'Midst flashes 

And trees 

Bending in the breeze 

And standing in tall loneliness against the sky. 

Clouds passing by 

And stretching forth gray fingers in the air 

Weird fantasies and f ornns 

Strange shapes and fair. 

The tears still lingering on each trembling leaf 

Then pouring down once more 

In fiercest torrents. 

Again the wind 

Maddest 

And gladdest 

Wildest 

And weirdest. 

Once more the flash 

. . . . And lo! strange miracle 

A door is opened; 

And then 

Nor pause between, there connes that rent, that cry. 

Was that door opened then, I wonder, 
To greet the Thunder ? 



32 



A winged, solitary singer sails by — 

Sails through the clouds 

Even as water passes down the wind 

And in his song 

He seeks to outsing the living leaves 

And wins the victory. 

And then there bursts 

From out ten thousand throats a song 

Of fiercest glory. 

The tears cease falling. 

And yet the web the water weaves 

Still covers leaves. 

And I 

Rush forth to laugh aloud for Lif e,-— 

For that I live! 



33 



A TINY RED SPIDER 

A tiny red spider sliding over a piece 

of white paper .... 
Something laid down over the little 

life . . . . 
And nothing left but a red smudge on 

the paper, no bigger than a pin-head. 



34 



I SAID 

I said to her, 

See, here is a tune I made up. Is it not nice? 

And she said, 

I made a poem once 

I thought it was very nice. 



35 



Wild . . wet . . women on the hill-tops 
Great . . glad . . women of the sea 
Sweet songs singing in the song-herds 
Whispers a-whispering to me 



Gaunt . . grey . . wcmien of the God-haunts 
Tear women ploughing in the plam 
Green gold gatherings of harvest 
Quiverings a-breaking me in pain 



36 



Quiet things a-Iapping up the drear-time 
Heart-breaks a-crowding in the pain 
Silences hiding in the darkness — 
Soft swift shadows in the rain 



White ones winging to the westward 
Grey ones a-gathering of graves 
Still-shod shadows out of twilight 
Foam-drops heaving over waves 



37 



WHITE MIRRORS 



Somewhere lie great white mirrors: 

These, my white ones, are just and you cannot escape them. 

Nowhere is one with a soul not reBected there. 

And perhaps if you could gaze deep into the white Ones 

Knowing not to whom the myriad souls belonged, 

It might be you would call to that of the leper you had helped 

to stone from the city 
And leave your own lonely in the dark, and crying. 



38 



There is no silence like to my silence 

And there is no death like to mine. 

Whither you go, I was there before you; 

Whom you love I have already loved and forgiven. 

When you speak, I have spoken it many times; 

And your laugh I have laughed in unborn ages. 

When I went, none knew of my going. 

They thought it was only a leaf in the wind. 

When I loved, none knew of my loving. 

They thought it was only pain and a terrible sorrow. 

When I spoke, none knew of my speaking. 

They thought it was smly night and a silence of quiet. 

When I laughed, none knew of my laughing. 

They thought it was only tears, and the burden of ages. 



39 



YOU ARE SO FOOLISH 

You are so foolish — ^you— with all your little pains and aches 
That you stare at thb great Immensity looking out at you 

.... quiet. 
And think to defend yourself from it. 
You cry out, and hide from it 
(The wild look of a hunted thing is in your eyes) 
You tear yourself fighting it. 

And all the while it is looking, looking 

Deep, into your heart 

(The loving of it — why do you not die?) 

Out beyond the furthest 

And past the boundaries of the limitless. 

And seeing you so well through its loving 
It leaves you free 

You look away from it and are hurt 

And it gazes . . . impassive . . . watching through all the 

struggles and the deaths 
And knowing that in the end, when you look .... 
You will see clearer for the wounds 
That the pain in your heart will make greater 
The light in your eyes. 



40 



KISSES OF THE BENDING LIUES 

The kisses of the bending lilies 
The soul-song of the brook singing 

The slow wearing away of rocks in the stream-bed by the ever- 
lasting waters 
And the greeting of the rocks joyous to the wearing. 

Hot damp air 
Delicious 

In my nostrils smell of clean wet earth 
In my brain . . . Silence 

My Spirit ... to God. 



Pale green-white leaves of things in rock-crevices 

Crowded with rain-pearls. 

Silent singing of green things 

So silent .... 

So singing .... 

Nor only green things, but rocks and water also 

And the swift call of birds joyous. 

(The growing of things is terrible . . . immense . . . ) 

No sorrow or heart-break but woidd die of joy for this ■ 

save it were blind 

Tiny presence of Immensity perfectly complete 

but no boundaries unseparated . . . 

. . no end no beginning (why should there be? I never 
asked you for an end or a beginning ... it is so 
unnecessary) and yet complete . . . 

It is the all that I ask 

And Thou Lord hast lifted it to me! 



41 



I ACCEPT YOU 

I accept you, (whoever, whatever you are — it makes 

no difference) 
I go with you on endless journeys 
I pass witih you thro endless dyings 
I accept you, simply and naturally 
And I believe you utterly. 

I cannot lose you (whoever, whatever you are — it 

makes no difference) 
Perhaps you go (we must all go) but inevitably 

you must return 
And you cannot but stay with me forever. 

I do not desire you. 

I am not anxious lest you should not come to me 

(And behold! thro the ages thou art running — 

wings spread as eagles. 
And casting away all arms I have caught thee in 

eternal embrace!) 

I do not fear you, 

I am not anxious lest you should come to me 

(And behold! Thou, my deliverer, running with 

heart outspread 
I know thee and THOU art my God!) 



42 



MOUNTAIN 

You are dark and silent to-night, O my Mountain. 
High moon watches and a hundred little loves of snows 

twinkle out from your shadows, 
From your hollow places. 

You are very great to-night, my Mountain: 
You are very high. 



43 



DEATH 
—A Play— 

Scene: A forest. Altar at the back. Moonlight 
from behind. 

Clearing in front of altar. 

Prelude is played (Debussy's L'Apres-midi d'un 
Faune). 

Music is continued and Death, who is young and 
very beautiful, dances until it stops. She goes over 
to a tree and arrays herself in a white sheet, which 
is lying at the foot. 

DEATH 

O Earth ! Why wilt thou send me always these blind; who, 
in their fear, create for me this cruel covering? 

Her face becomes hard and set as the Old Man 
enters, frembling with fear. 

OLD MAN 
Art thou Death? 

DEATH 
I am. 

OLD MAN 
O terrible as Night and Solitude! Leave me! 

He starts to run out, but returns as Death fixes 
her gaze upon him. She points to a tree and the 
Old Man hobbles to it and sinks down at its base. 
Death throws off her sheet and covers him with it, 
saying: 

DEATH 

Sleep on. I give thee back thy thought. 

She kneels at the altar. Music plays. Enter 
Galien, a child. She dances a while, then suddenly 
sees Death. She stops and, studying Death closely, 
advances slowly step by step, speaking at long 
intervals. Music plays in distance until the end. 



44 



GALIEN 

Who art thou? .... Thou art very like soine<Hie I 
loved once, long ages past . . . and yet like another for 
whom I have been searching even longer. 

{Death waits in silent suspense. Galien is 
touched by her distress.) 

Tell me .... 

DEATH 

Thou dost not know me? 

Galien falls into her arms, crying for joy. 

GAUEN 

My Mother! God. 

DEATH 

I am Birth .... and Life .... in Death. And 
in all these God. 

They go out together. The Old Man wakes up 
and tries to shake off the sheet. He struggles with 
it, but is finally compelled to wrap it round him, as 
he cannot shake it off. 

OLD MAN 

It feels like lead 

{He looks around for Death, and then calls): 

Death, Death! 
{He waits. No answer.) 
Perhaps it was a dream, after alL I shall go back and see. 

But he does not go. He still waits instinctively 
for an answer. 

DEATH (from within) 

Go back Love! And when thou hast loved 

enough, and canst love me, — ^Truth return. 

I wiU not fail thee ever! Only look within 

thyself. 

Curtain 

45 



Early Poems 



AROUND THE FIRE 

When the dusk and twilight gather around, 

And the sun has left the sky, 
When the evening dew is upon the ground, 

And I hear the whip-poor-wills cry; 
We listen together without a sound 

(My dearest Mother and I) 
To some of the secrets the fire has found 

In the pine-logs old and dry — 
And sometimes in the dreams of a song I lie bound 

And hear footsteps passing by. 



48 



THE SKY 

O the evening sky is beautiful, 

The evening sky is bright; 
The evening sky doth break the day 
And bring with it the night. 

And when the darkness gathers o'er, 
At my window I shall stay 

To watch the stars come one by one 
Out in the sky to play. 



49 



A WISH 

I would love to live in the heart of a wood 
With flowers and birds for friends; 

To sleep at night on a bed of the moss 
That Nature so carefully tends. 

But Lord, since I cannot, I pray make my life 

As happy as if I could; 
Make the rush and the roar of the city 

Like the song of birds in a wood. 



50 



SONG OF THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD 

The roaring tide, the rushing wave — 
Father, art thou in the sea-cave? 
Or art thou in the fisher's boat ? 
Or is thy body on the waves to float? 

Jesus in the heavens high, 
Save my father ere he die! 



Before you left the homelike shore, 
To see your children never more; 
Did you not see the grey storm-cloud ? 
Do you not hear me calling loud ? 

Jesus in the heavens high. 
Save my father ere he die! 



51 



TO LILIES 

Lilies of the Valley, 

Lilies all so bright, 
The name that best befits you 

Is ''Lilies of Delight." 

Lilies tall and stately, 

Lilies white and fair, 
Lilies, there is nothing 

That can with you compare. 



52 



GOD 

Far from the busy roar of the toMm, 

Far from the forest, dreary and brown, 

Far from the mountain, grim and steep, 

Alone on a rock rising out of the deep. 

With none to care for my thoughts or me 

Save only God and the sea- 

The wild waves break on the rocky shore, 

The dark clouds lower unheeded. 
And all that troubled me before 
Hath past away like a dream of yore 

At the word of the Ever-Needed. 

God, art Thou not the earth and the sea. 

And the wind that I love so well ? 
Is it not Thy Spirit that kills my care? 
Art Thou not in the rocks, the clouds, the air 

That with these I so love to dwell? 



53 



THE SNOW STORM 

Fast the feathery flakes are fedling, 
Loud the icy wind is calling, 
Blowing hidier, blowing thither, 
Hastening it knows not whither; 
Hurling snow in wild delight, 
Heaping drifts of spotless white 
Softer than the softest down, 
Glittering as a silver crown. 

Fast the feathery flakes are falling 
Loud the icy wind is calling; 
Heaping snowdrifts without number. 
Working while the world doth slumber. 



54 



CHARM: TO BE SAID BEFORE GOING TO SLEEP 

I am drifting away from the realms of Thought, 

Borne o'er the river by wind and tide 

To the magic land on the other side — 

Where the soft winds blow and the song of the sea 

From a mental chaos sets me free — 

For I was wearied with Thought. 



55 



TO M. H. L. 

Loving sister of God's music makers 
The birds — ^the thrushes and the meadowlarks; 
Sbter of the singing winds and zephyrs, 
Sister of the clouds — the wings of heaven, 
Sister of the strange shaped stars of winter — 
Glistening living wonderflakes of winter, 
Sbter of the strange shaped leaves of autumn— 
Softly colored, whispering leaves of autunm, 
Sister of the trees with Life resounding, 
Sister of the flowers of all the seasons. 
Sister of the gold and silver sunsets- 
Daughter of God art thou — and child of Nature, 
O sister of the World of Beauty! 



56 



I WENT TO THE CHURCHYARD 

I went to the churchyard on Sunday night, 

Away back there where the grey moons glow- 

And I saw the church in the misty light, 
And I heard the people singing low. 

I saw the moon in the cloudy skies, 
And I heard the night wind singing — 

And I knew the meaning of wonderful eyes, 
And clouds winging. 

I knew the song of the whispering leaves, 
And I thought of a form once buried there; 

I was caught in the net the silence weaves. 
And I drank with joy the sweet fresh air. 

Then my loved one rose and came to me. 
And her soul communed with mine — 

And out of h^ eyes I seemed to see 
God's glory shine. 



I left the churchyard that starry night, 

Away back there where the grey moons glow; 

And God was alone in the misty light — 
And I knew that it always had be«a so. 



57 



THE SONG OF THE CHILD 

(From The Grey-Green Forest) 

O River that leapest over the river-bed, 
River that weepest over the river-bed, 
That hast called me, and led me, and hidden, and fed me. 
That hast taught me at last that thy hiding place is everywhere, 
In the hidden and high places upon the earth ; 
(For there is a hidden place in every inch of ground, 
And high places are in great abundance;) 
Thou that hast lured me on with Love 
In an unending sesurch, 

For though I have found thee, I must still search thee, 
Thou that art gushing, and rushing, and hushing, and running, 
and rippling, and singing, — 
O take thou me at last! 



58 



THE STARS 

Have you ever heard the stars sing? 
They sing wonderful songs: 

Songs about conunon things, 

Everyday things, 

That you and I see and think nothing of! 

Sometimes they sing about these common things 

That we (presume to) know about: 

And sometimes 

About far away, misty things. 

Have you ever heard the stars sing? 

No? 

Well, sometime, if you are listening, 

If you are out in a garden with God, 

At night Perhaps you will hear. 

Perhaps the stars sing. 



59 



THE OCEAN'S LULLABY 

O beautiful child of the human race, 

With the haggard eyes that once were blue, 

With the look of anguish on thy face 

— ^Think not I am angry — know 1 am kind, 

For the ocean loves thee e'en as the wind, 

O woman with the beautiful eyes! 

Then shut those beautiful eyes of thine, 

Those haggard grey eyes that once were blue; 

And thy face shall be washed by the waves and the dew- 

And thou shalt wake in the arms of the dawn — 

And the ocean that loved thee will be gone; 

And the sun shall rise on another day 

Better than that which has passed away. 

And again thou shalt wake in the arms of the dawn 

But the ocean that loved thee forever is gone. 



60 



EPILOGUE 

Gathered together in this little book 

Are all my poems; not worthy of a look; 

But still I trust that you will treasure them, 

Tho' not the flower, possibly the stem. 

For who can write a perfect poem at once? 

We all, at first, must play the part of dimce, — 

The root and stem, from which the flower grows. 

And more; — the stem adds somewhat to the rose. 

For just imagine. Mother, in your mind 

A rose without a stem, — an ugly kind ! 

Once more— I think you'll love them more for me 
Than for themselves. 

However that may be 
The book is finished — all there is to see. 



61 



THE DIFFERENCE 
—A Tale— 

Once, in a far-o£F country, there lived a child who was 
di£Ferent. He did not like the things that other children liked, 
and he did not know how to play. The village children tried 
to take him into their games; but he was so plainly unhappy, 
that diey only wondered and let him go. By and by they 
forgot about him; but all the time he wondered why he was so 
different from the rest. Yet his wondering was all to no pur- 
pose, for neither he nor the children that were happy and 
played could ever understand the difference. Only he knew 
that in the depths of his soul, at night, something cried. 

And as he grew older and was more with others, he began 
to love the companionship and try to understand. But he 
never knew them, save on the surface of life; for his language 
of deep things was di£Ferent from theirs. 

And now, when he was become a man, great flashes of 
insight came to him, yet when he tried to teach them to the 
people, none would listen to his words. And always he knew 
that it was because he was di£Ferent; but neither he nor the 
others could ever understand the difference. 

Night after night he spent in prayer that he might under- 
stand himself and throw off this curse of difference, so that 
the people would listen to his words, for sometimes it seemed 
to him that his heart would break when they turned from him 
and the visions he had to tell. And sometimes, when for a 
moment he stopped praying, that which had cried in the 
depths of his soul as a child was still heaurd crying; but then he 
would pray again until it became inaudible through the tumult 
of his praying. 



62 



One night after many years, it happened that his untold 
visions haunted him so that he could not pray, and in that 
time, when the voices of silence vr&ce singing, the crying in the 
depths of his soul was heard by God. And immediately 
there came to him One who understood all things, and to 
Whom there was no great and small. And His presence laid 
before the man's soul many things, so that he knew that to 
Him was nothing different, and that His dwelling-place was 
the heart of the people. And he saw that for this vision had 
the world been made, and that all things had had their begin- 
ning in this; and he understood that all he had su£Fered had 
been suffered from the beginning of ages by those he had 
most envied. 

Then, with terrific force, he sent forth his vision, silent, to 
be burned into the souls of the midtitude; and having accom- 
plbhed that for which he had come into the world, he laid 
down his body with a song, passing out over the grave. 



63 



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